Silence thrummed around me.
Sitting cross-legged, I breathed slowly, eyes closed. The air in the chamber coiled in on itself, dense, saturated with pure mana.
Each inhale made my lungs quiver. Golden filaments slipped through my pores, gliding under my skin like warm dust, winding around muscle and nerve before streaking straight to my heart.
No pain. No resistance. Just that shiver—the one you feel when the body finally accepts the world instead of rejecting it.
The chamber Sylvara had granted us was a jewel of draconic alchemy.
Walls glowed with living runes, the floor pulsed to the rhythm of mana's breathing, and with every breath I had the sense the room was watching me, weighing whether I could endure it.
Here, everything was amplified: heat, sensation, pain, the pleasure of feeling your own inner flow.
My body was adapting. Slowly, but surely.
My mana channels widened; my organs thrummed with a new strength, as if I were replacing flesh with something denser.
